# Chapter 5: The Founder's Shadow
The Grand Library's entrance inscription read "Knowledge Is the Foundation of Power" in gilt letters, which was ironic considering that the Academy's most dangerous knowledge was locked in the Forbidden Archives three floors beneath where any student could reach.
Zane found the sealed assignment notice slipped under his dormitory door at dawn, the wax seal still warm. He'd been expecting this.
Research Essay: The Tactical Failures of Demon King Xylos. 5,000 words. Professor Kylus. Due in 72 hours.
No grade weight listed. No rubric. Just a trap disguised as academic busywork.
Zane dressed in his threadbare uniform and made his way across the morning-quiet campus, watching early risers hurry toward their first classes. The assignment was elegant in its cruelty_rite too well and reveal knowledge no commoner should possess, write poorly and face Kylus's "remedial conditioning." A perfect test for someone the professor suspected of being more than they appeared.
He'd have to walk a razor's edge. Smart enough to pass, mediocre enough to survive.
The Grand Library rose before him like a cathedral to human arrogance, five stories of honey-colored stone with flying buttresses that served no structural purpose. Spatial expansion enchantments made the interior impossibly vast, shelf-lined corridors stretching beyond normal sight into manufactured distance.
Zane entered through the main doors, nodding to the bored student attendant who barely looked up from her novel. The entrance hall contained the public catalog system_rystalline tablets mounted on marble pedestals, their surfaces rippling with light as students whispered queries.
He approached an empty terminal and spoke quietly. "Purification War, tactical analysis."
The crystal pulsed, then displayed a list of results with floor numbers and shelf coordinates. Most were marked with green access indicators. Three were flagged [RESTRICTED_equires Proctor Authorization] in amber text.
Interesting. But not unexpected.
Zane followed the directions to the third floor, climbing a spiral staircase that wound through the library's core. The Military History section occupied the eastern wing, its shelves organized by conflict and era. He pulled volumes at random, skimming their sanitized accounts with barely concealed contempt.
The Hero's Triumph at Blackstone Ridge described Valerius leading a cavalry charge against "demonic hordes." Zane remembered that battle. There had been no charge. Valerius's forces had been pinned in a valley for three days until Xylos's supply lines collapsed due to a traitor in his war council. The "heroic victory" was starvation logistics, not tactics.
Catalog of the Archfiend's Atrocities listed cities burned and populations slaughtered, each entry more lurid than the last. Half were outright fabrications. The other half omitted that those cities had been Holy Order staging grounds conducting their own massacres of Primordial Arts practitioners.
History, Zane reflected, was written by survivors with an agenda.
He selected three volumes with the least offensive inaccuracies and claimed a study desk near the section's edge. From here, he could observe the restricted alcoves_mall reading nooks behind faintly glowing ward barriers that required proctor authorization to access.
He was two pages into Strategic Analysis of the Northern Campaign when he noticed her.
Seraphina Lin sat in a restricted alcove three aisles away, partially hidden behind a shelf but visible through the gaps. She was reading a leather-bound text that looked older than the Academy itself, her fingers tracing lines with careful reverence. When footsteps approached, she quickly slipped the book beneath a more innocuous volume on her desk.
A library proctor passed. Seraphina waited until the robed figure turned a corner, then resumed reading.
Bold. And stupid.
Zane returned to his own research, making notes in deliberately mediocre prose. Xylos's northern strategy failed due to overextension and poor morale among conscripted forces. True enough, though it left out that his "conscripted forces" had been volunteers defending their homes from Lumina's "purification" crusades.
Fifteen minutes later, two proctors converged on Seraphina's alcove.
"Miss Lin." The lead proctor's voice carried across the quiet section. "The ward logged your access thirty minutes ago. May I see your authorization?"
Seraphina looked up, and even from this distance, Zane could see her face pale. "I was cross-referencing sources for Professor Mira's social history assignment"
"This alcove contains restricted materials from the pre-Compact period." The proctor gestured, and the book on her desk floated up into his waiting hand. He examined the spine, and his expression hardened. "The Unbound Centuries: A Critical History. This text was banned by Church decree eight years ago."
The second proctor produced a documentation crystal. "Unauthorized access to heretical materials is grounds for immediate expulsion, per Academy Code Section"
"Regulation 47-C supersedes that code." Zane stood, keeping his voice calm and clear. "Founder's Code, original charter."
Both proctors turned. The lead proctor's eyes narrowed. "I'm not familiar with"
"Students engaged in collaborative research may share clearance authorization provided the primary researcher accepts full responsibility." Zane crossed the aisle, pulling his student identification from his pocket. "I authorized Miss Lin's access for my Combat History assignment. Professor Kylus assigned me to research pre-Compact tactical doctrines, which requires access to period-contemporary sources."
Complete fabrication, of course. But delivered with enough bureaucratic confidence that the proctors hesitated.
Seraphina stared at him like he'd materialized from smoke.
The lead proctor consulted his documentation crystal, his frown deepening. "Regulation 47-C... this hasn't been invoked in decades."
"That doesn't make it invalid," Zane said mildly.
The proctors exchanged glances. The second one muttered something about "checking with the Head Librarian" and hurried off. The first remained, arms crossed, radiating disapproval.
Zane waited. Two centuries of existence had taught him that silence often won arguments that words couldn't.
The second proctor returned five minutes later, his expression sour. "The regulation exists. Under protest, we're marking both your records for administrative review." He thrust the banned book back at Seraphina. "Next time, follow proper channels."
They departed in a rustle of robes.
Seraphina turned to Zane, her shock morphing into urgent suspicion. "How did you know that law existed? It's not in any current handbook. I've read them all."
Before Zane could deflect, a dry voice spoke from directly behind them.
"Because that regulation was written two hundred years ago by Founder Arcturus, and has not been successfully invoked since."
They both turned to find Librarian Vorlag standing impossibly close despite his apparent frailty. Up close, the old man's eyes were disturbing_ilmed with cataracts but somehow still sharp, like they saw past flesh into something deeper.
Vorlag studied Zane with the intensity of a scholar examining an unexpected footnote. "You have an interesting knowledge of obscure Academy history, young man."
Zane met that ancient gaze without flinching. "I read a lot."
"Mm." Vorlag's wrinkled lips twitched. "The Founder's Collection in the archives below has not been accessed in twenty years. Perhaps it should be."
The statement hung in the air like an invitation wrapped in warning.
Then the old man turned and shuffled away, his footsteps making no sound on the library's stone floor, disappearing between the towering shelves like he'd never been there at all.
Seraphina grabbed Zane's arm, her grip surprisingly strong. "We need to talk. Now."
Zane glanced at her hand, then at her face. Her expression promised she wouldn't let this go. The clever ones never did.
"Fine," he said. "But somewhere private."
She led him to an empty study alcove on the fifth floor, checking twice for surveillance wards before rounding on him with barely contained intensity.
"What are you?"
Zane raised an eyebrow. "Presumptuous question."
"You're not just some lucky commoner." She spoke in a rapid whisper. "You know Founder-era regulations that even professors have forgotten. You destroyed that dummy using techniques I've only read about in pre-Compact war journals. And you speak with the kind of precision that takes years of formal education, which your file says you don't have."
Sharp. Too sharp.
Zane considered his options. Seraphina was intelligent, curious, and clearly involved in something illicit if she was reading banned books in restricted archives. She could be useful. Or she could be a liability that needed to be eliminated.
He chose the truth. A version of it, anyway.
"I read obscure historical texts," he said. "The kind that end up in slum bookshops when noble estates liquidate their libraries. I taught myself Old Runic from fragments. I studied pre-Compact magical theory because it interested me." He met her eyes. "And I learned very quickly that admitting any of this at the Academy would mark me as either a fraud or a heretic."
Seraphina processed this, her academic instincts warring with suspicion. Finally, she seemed to reach a decision.
"I'm part of a group," she said quietly. "Students who research suppressed history. We believe the Purification War wasn't what the Church claims. We believe Xylos wasn't a demon king_e was a scholar who opposed Lumina's Compact, and Valerius destroyed him for it."
Zane kept his face carefully neutral. "Bold theory."
"We have sources." Her eyes gleamed. "Smuggled texts. First-hand accounts from survivors. Evidence that gets you expelled if the Church finds out." She leaned closer. "We meet in the abandoned East Wing. Midnight, three days from now. If you're interested in real knowledge_he kind they don't sanitize for class_ome."
A secret society worshipping a sanitized version of himself. The irony was almost painful.
"I'll think about it," Zane said.
Seraphina nodded and started to leave, then paused. "One more thing. The person who supplies our materials_he one who gets us banned books and... other things." She met his eyes. "If you need resources that the Academy won't provide, he can help. For a price."
"What kind of resources?"
"Whatever you need." Her smile was knowing. "I think you understand what I mean."
She left before he could respond.
Zane remained in the alcove, processing the conversation. A black market supplier. Access to forbidden materials. A group of naive idealists who saw Xylos as a martyr instead of a monster.
All potentially useful. All potentially dangerous.
He descended to the main floor, intending to return to his dormitory, when Librarian Vorlag materialized beside a shelf, moving books with impossible speed despite his frailty.
The old man didn't turn around, but his voice carried. "The Founder's Collection requires Headmaster authorization. But the Founder also included a provision for 'exceptional scholarship merit.'" He placed a thin pamphlet on the shelf at Zane's eye level. "Five perfect scores on advanced theoretical examinations."
Vorlag shuffled away before Zane could respond.
Zane took the pamphlet. Advanced Runic Theory Examination Schedule. The first test was scheduled in two weeks: Pre-Compact Runic Grammar.
His area of absolute expertise.
A backdoor into the Forbidden Archives, then. Vorlag was offering him a path.
The question was: why?
Zane tucked the pamphlet into his uniform and left the library, his mind already calculating. Kylus's essay. Seraphina's group. The black market supplier. The examination route to restricted knowledge.
Too many pieces moving at once. He'd have to be careful not to attract more attention than he already had.
As he descended the Academy's main steps, a hooded figure stood in the courtyard below, perfectly still, face hidden in shadow. Watching him.
Zane met that hidden gaze for three seconds. The figure didn't move, didn't react.
Then they turned and disappeared into the crowd of students, leaving no trace.
Zane continued walking, his expression unchanged, but his ancient instincts whispered warnings. Someone else was watching. Someone patient enough to wait, skilled enough to avoid detection.
Someone who knew what questions to ask.
He returned to his dormitory and began drafting his essay, deliberately writing at the level of a clever commoner rather than a reincarnated Archmagus. The kind of student who might have picked up interesting facts from discarded books, but whose understanding remained fundamentally incomplete.
Xylos's tactical failures stemmed from overreliance on conscripted forces and an inability to maintain supply lines across hostile territory...
Mediocre. Plausible. Safe.
He burned his practice drafts in the fireplace and lay down without eating, staring at the water-stained ceiling while his mind worked through the variables.
Kylus suspected him. Seraphina was too curious. Vorlag had offered him a test. And someone unknown was watching from the shadows.
The game was accelerating. Soon, he'd have to make a choice: remain hidden and weak, or step into the light and risk everything.
But not yet. Not until he was ready.
Zane closed his eyes and let exhaustion take him, his last thought a cold calculation of how many blood-enhancements he could perform before his body gave out.
The answer was two. Maybe three, if he was willing to risk permanent damage.
As sleep finally claimed him, his lips curved into something that might have been a smile.
Survival was worth any price his new flesh had to pay.
**